Sonic Origins
by OxyJay
Summary: Everyone has a beginning. Who were the renowned heroes before they were forced to fight? Look at the past to understand the present.  AU  Begins around StH3&K, omitting 1&2.  Visit my profile for a more accurate summary.
1. Prologue

Fear. It all began with fear. _They_ had been exposed. A simple mistake and everything seemed at risk. Now _their _very existence was at risk. Fear consumed _their_ actions. _They_ only wanted what belonged to _them_. It was something that had been stolen from the heart of one of _their_ own. Those insolent fools took what they could never understand. It remained hidden by the thieves as a trophy alongside their other spoils. If they understood what it was, then they would have treated it with much greater respect, not just as another medal of their king's accomplishments. What they had received was greater power than just another blank on a ruler's resume. But how would they know? The fear _they_ felt was uncanny and hidden. But it was there.

He did not want to spill further blood, but those thieves would not return what was _his_; what was _theirs_. He had made them who they were; supported them in their campaigns. Now they objected his rule. Why? Because they had one victory guided by pure luck? Those ignorant fools had no idea what was in their hands. He knew though, and he wanted it back. The mistake that led to _his_ loss of _it_ was guided by peer arrogance. The example made of Erus was warmly welcomed by the _others_. It went too far though, thieves taking what didn't belong to them; displaying it as a trophy of a very improbable victory. He had asked for it returned to him. He even asked nicely; not begging, but warning of what was to come. Those thieves didn't comply. They brought this upon themselves.

Orange waves danced angrily upon freshly carved ruins. They spread, depriving the city of its life. It was the quickest way. These citizens had their chance to submit to his will. They ignored it. They ignorantly believed their king had greater control of their will than they did. Their king had decided suicide for the entire city; it was a fate inescapable for most. Their deaths were fitting. Their decisions were made as one, shared by one over-mind; so too was their death a shared experience. The burning would not end, not until _he _had received what he demanded. Dancing flames pulled away oxygen selfishly, refusing to save even a little for those inside their grasp. It was a typical gesture, hands on the throat, to indicate either death by choking or suffocation. Why couldn't they just give _him_ what he wanted? _He_ didn't actually enjoy the screams or their slow suffocating deaths. _His_ conscious was much intact still; he continually offered them salvation. Still, others feared treason. They feared his compassion.

There was only one place of salvation. Ironically it was the place that the decision had been made. The decision that led to the destruction of the city. It was a tall multi-story building, supported by Corinthian pillars; fancy, decorated support beams. It lie atop a cliff as an acropolis, overlooking the rest of the city with its might. It mimicked the stubbornness of its king. It acted as a sanctuary to those fortunate enough to dodge the overgrown bonfire.

Slow patting of sandals walked up the mound of stairs. The bottom of a toga dragged behind, still white as the glowing of a night-time star; as if it had been bought anew, cleaned and then thrown on. The blaze behind the approaching figure created a silhouette to those staring in front. Blinding white eyes stared forward as _he _approached. Something green glowed in the darkness; bright as the white eyes. Something weighed on his shoulder; a lump, or some kind of growth. That didn't make any sense. No, perhaps a bag. It wasn't clear what it was. The 'growth' remained as dark as _he_ did.

Silence...

The presence of eyes were felt upon _him_. Their attention had been captured; whetted through a taste of destruction. Moments passed... Seconds; minutes... Or were they hours? It felt like a lifetime. How much longer would they be kept waiting. Some hoped it would all end. Others prayed; falsely praying as they already knew. Who could they pray to? That option had long been removed. Then the eyes disappeared... reappeared. The movement of the 'growth' had covered them for only a moment. They continued to stare intently at the audience. The extra weight dropped in front of the frightened citizens; thrown several feet from the toes of their nemesis. A body... A body like theirs. The dead weight of an echidna lay facing them with helpless eyes. Simply staring. Life, it had been taken from those old eyes. The eyes of a king. He had been stripped down to the nude. He was reduced, levelled to just another; an equal to all others. There wasn't a single gasp of surprise, as if everyone already knew. It was a united conscious, broken only by a thought of what to do.

Five sets of hands shakily grabbed their spears. The palace doors busted open, five echidna guards following. They stared, nervously... It was impossible to calm themselves. There was no feeling in their nerves. They'd gone cold... Numb. It was a defense though. A defense to what was coming. The powerful being in front of them spoke...

"I offer, again, my compassion." He paused, letting his words sink in. The ears of the citizens had gone blank by now. All they could hear were their own thoughts of fear, "Submit. I only want what I have came for."

Brainwashed fools... The guards rushed forward intending to kill, at least that's how they visualized it. There was no true confidence in the assault. A single snap... It signalled something. What did it signal? It was an unusually loud snap. How could anyone snap their fingers with such sound? A pulse of energy followed on cue. The guards stopped in their tracks. Various poses were made, as if in some game of freeze tag. _He_ had performed 'red light' in a game of red light-green light. They were completely stunned. Their jaws remained loose, allowing for vocalization. Everything felt tight and a bitter taste filled their mouths.

A flash of light... _He _was gone... Then back... One of the guards keeled over. Life exited his body.

"Will you submit?" The question was directed at the left-furthest guard. Words could not be expressed by the guard. Although he had the ability, he could not issue any words. He simply tried to move his head, in a failed attempt, to issue a negative response. His eyes showed the desire to kill, "Then come kill me."

The guard was released into a full sprint. His spear moved through the air swiftly, closing in on its target. There was a hit. Everything seemed to stop; literally stop. A lifetime passed. His life time. The guard dropped, spear stuck through his jugular.

A woman... Wincing at the site... Covering her child.

"Such loyalty," _He_ was disappointed, "To a king who has brought nothing but pain. A dead king... Will you submit?"

The question was again directed toward the furthest most left. Something about this guard... He was different. Through the site of death he rationalized. His brain acted as a computer. It calculated, scanned, and calculated more. Only one solution could be rationalized. His understanding led him to question everything he had been and who he was. Why was he placed with this question; in this situation. Through the witnessing of two of his best friends' deaths, he made these calculations; this rationalization. He nervously imagined the eyes staring behind him. He felt pressured... The words would not come out. He made no attempt to move his head. His body was limp with fear.

"If that is your answer..." _He _prepared for the extinction of another life. His hands gripped tight, ready to display yet another example of his power. To him, this was just a talent show and he could go all day. Light surrounded what would be his hand... It raised as if signifying a race; preparing to lower... To end the race of another.

_He_ was halted... Rather surprised actually...

"I will submit." The guard acknowledge through what was less than a whisper...

He was released, along with the others who stared at him surprisingly. Their brains did not compute the same solution as he did. They foolishly hoped. Then again, they were the truly brainwashed ones. They never dared to question their king, nor did they think with similar logic. The stand-alone thought things in a different way. _Live today to fight another day... _That was his thinking subconsciously, what his brain had computed as the solution. Of course he really believed himself submitting to cowardice, as did the others. His submission was recognized as a single vote for everyone; just as the vote used to permit this encounter.

"Bring to me... The soul of Erus," The deep voice echoed, "and I will find you..."

White eyes disappeared, the faint after image of something green left behind... Then...

There was chaos... A disagreement between the people. Those who wanted to fight and those who agreed with the submission. The unified thought had become broken.

Civil war... Those who stayed loyal to a king, dead with no heir, and those who believed in a new future...

Somewhere in the distance there is a roundabout in the burning city. Acting as the axis is a fountain. In the center of that fountain stands a statue. The sculpture is an exaggeration in size, resembling the Old King. He looks towards the palace; a place where argument is expressed now. There is cracking across the statue, one peculiarly down the left eye, forming resemblance to a scar... This statue, once a symbol to the city's greatness, falls to the ground in pieces. The statue lies in shambles, sitting in the waters of a continuous fountain...


	2. Chapter 1: A Little Less than Hero

An apple... Its arm extends toward the sky, as if trying to return somewhere. Maybe to where it began. It cannot cope with change, even as in its experience it was witness to the descent of others like itself. Or maybe its fate was unnatural, the consequence of something divine or otherworldly. The apple extends its arm upward, wishing to reunite with its world, always dissatisfied with its own fate... Always wanting to go back... Going back. It's interesting... But it distracts the apple from going forward... It distracts it of a darker future. So its arm is plucked off. Then its senses are impaired. The apple becomes paranoid. Uncomfortable. It rationalizes; realizes. It remembers its fall. It remembers seeing others like it fall. Then it remembers a tight grasp wrapping its being, suffocating the apple. Darkness follows. Its arm is removed and it rationalizes; realizes... It sees it is with the others; others like itself. Fear engulfs the apple. Suddenly it realizes it is not unique. It is the same. It is the same as all the other apples... This rationalization, realization, comes too late though. Suffocation... Again.

A gloved hand takes hold of the yellow-red fruit. The blending of colors almost makes it look orange. Ascent is soon followed with the force of forward motion seeming to continue in infinity. White razors close in on the apple as it is halted, almost entering darkness. Then there is the first slit; sweet blood of the apple tears out and into the coming abyss. The slit becomes a much larger incision until a chunk is finally pulled off, the yellow insides of the apple beginning to rot slowly. The chunk of apple disappears down a dark tunnel after being further grinded. Above the execution are two windows. The windows face forward, looking toward the concrete and tar. Looking at the large combination of glass and steal. An aggregate of colors, segregated by their location on the sides of steal or brick, lifted by polygons – mostly rectangles - stained by words and images. Words that give meaning to what these windows look toward. Words like, "Jewellery, 15% off!" A few minutes ago a basket of apples would have been the focus of these windows, and then a tan arm with a large white gloved hand reaching down to suffocate one of the apples as the visualization raised. Then the faint sound of another cursing, "Thief!", entering triangularly pointed receptors. Everything passes at an equal pace of happening.

A red shoe, separated by a horizontal stripe of white, hits the pavement. It moves up. Another appears on the opposite side. The process repeats again and a again, few breaks in between where the sneakers take off in unison. In preparation for their fall they distance, making room to balance, then returning back to their predictable movement as they plant the ground. Such perfect movement. It's like watching a video on loop. The same motion, perfected; never changing. It's the result of experience. The way a master smith carves an edge, a crafter smooths their masterpiece, or a painter adds depth to their picture. Through practice... Through running. Constant running out of necessity. Not because there is a strict desire to run, but because it has to be done. Desire comes from acquisition of excellence. It's impossible to not utilize such skill. It creates a challenge. It creates an excuse to use the skill. There are other alternatives, but none as rewarding as the endorphin high from running. It's an addiction. There is no immunity to the adrenaline or post feelings.

A pair of black gym shorts spread, the red sneakers sliding before coming to a rough halt kicking up dust and rocks in the process. Tiny spring fuzz balls on the concrete walk way jump up back into the air and float away slowly. A sneeze from a passing bystander follows. The legs kick forward again running down a narrow artificial path between two single story brick buildings. Coolness consumes the air. Sunlight reaches only the tip of one of the buildings, shade conquering the rest of the narrow space. Gloved hand reach onto the side of one of the buildings, blue spines and an orange vest pressing onto the other. The light becomes more intense as the alley begins to end. One step out and the swelling heat returns to the right leg. The figure exits, casually assuming position amongst the busy body of the crowd. He takes the form of a cell in an active bloodstream. Arms raise behind the head to cool the panting. Thoughts then vocalize, "Looks like that's it." Exhaustion is protected from the words; the breaths are taken in large controlled inhaling and slow exhales to show no sign of being winded.

Blinds of the windows close, covering the greenness inside them. The core of the apple is dropped, disappearing into the steps of an abundance of apathetic persons. Calmness takes control of the figure as the endorphins kick in. He continues to walk forward, blocked by a clot in the bloodstream. _Walk_ flashes on the sign in front as a green dot shifts to yellow on the street light above, and then red. The sign changes in unison. _Don't walk_. A blur in the crowd, a balding man with a thick black mustache stops to stare at the core of the rotted apple. His eyes twitch as he looks forward, a clenched fist covered by the bodies of the crowd walking against the frustrated man. Next to him is another man. He's dressed in uniform, younger than the other; a clone to others while dressed in his blues. The older of the two points forward into the crowd, something strikes him as important. The latter of the two lazily looks at what's being pointed out; he's out of shape and judging by his task not very good at his profession. He simply nods, apathy still taking his full commitment. Just another day without any significance to him.

The runner takes one glance backward. Instinct possibly. He notices a body approaching with haste, recognizes the uniform; _S.S.P.D _clearly read on the chest pocket. "Cop" he thinks to himself, "No problem." Just another mess up placed on street and traffic duty to prevent distraction in the department. He plans his move, looking to his sides. The right side blocked by renovations to the side walk just on the other side of the street. His left side is open with a long stretch of concrete and buildings; shops, businesses, and apartment complexes. Red sneakers follow suit with others moving that direction. The blue figure disappears under the height of the crowd. The cop arrives at the end of the block. _Walk_. A car honks behind another; the driver in front distracted looking down at their phone, probably a text. The cop's target is no where to be seen. He looks to the left, notices something familiar for a second. Suddenly he becomes part of that vein. He reaches the end, still nothing. Apathy... The cop just doesn't care. He returns back to the angry vender empty handed. Just another failure.

There's a thick smell of coffee. An obnoxious "Hello" from a counter and a blonde girl in work attire – a green apron and visor – looks fakely with a smile at a new customer. Her teeth were inappropriately white; too white. Did she bleach them? It didn't matter. Just across from her sits a blue figure – a hedgehog, not a man - wearing a sporty outfit. Black gym shorts, a sporty orange vest, and sunglasses hooked to his triangular ears, hanging just above his green eyes. He held a newspaper, imitating the look of reading. All he really saw was a headline: _Station Square Financial Crisis Over?_ His ears tuned to another conversation. Finances, not one of his concern, but it was all he could hear. Two hardened pals discussing the same headline he only glanced at.

"Mayor Jackson got us out of the crisis." A gruff voice spoke, coughing shortly after. The blue figure looked up, caught a glimpse of the participants in debate and then quickly covered up. Older men, about in their fifties or sixties judging by the grayness of their balding hair and their flannel button ups.

"I don't care!" The other retorted, "He's the one who made deals with the business men and politicians that got us into the problem in the first place. A little less than hero if you ask me."

"But he didn't actually do anything, it was all the businesses and their lobbying for certain stipulations."

"There you go," A sigh was heard, a sign of frustration, "Allowing these lobbyist to influence his decisions. Accepting their bribes. That's doing something. I think he should be punished with the others, but everyone looks at him as some sort of messiah. He's no better than the others. If you attribute anything to a crime you're a criminal. I don't care if you _try_ to redeem yourself! You're still just another problem. Lock them all up I say! Let's get somebody in power who actually cares!"

"Right, and who wou-"

The hedgehog got up. He couldn't take any more. Every word they said went over his head. The knob of the door twisted, a bell sounded, and then he was gone...


	3. Chapter 2: The Misfits

_Tick... tock... tick..._

Silence...

The last bolt rolled down the maple pathway, passing several faded watermark stains, and finally off to a two second drop. A muffled thump followed. The bolt sat there, dead, waiting as subtle vibrations ruptured the soft surface; white fingers patted the ground endlessly searching for the minute object. An index finger and a thumb wrapped around the bolt, lifting it toward two baby blue eyes to be appraised; light reflected in the pupils imitating the beauty of crystal.

"I found you!" The voice was high, childish, and immature; radiating with joy and innocence, as if every word spoken from said mouth was pure.

The hand dropped the bolt into a small charcoal colored bowl. It rolled around the grooves, almost completing a full 360 around the inside before clashing with other metallic accessories of some device; bolts, screws, gears, ect. Several other parts of the device rolled into the bowl; a shell of what was once a working invention remained on the maple tabletop. The working hands gently placed a screwdriver next to the crater of scraps. Crystal eyes staring at the finished stripping of the shell with pride in the work done thus far. Gloved hands reached back into the pile and began placing pieces back in the empty shell. One by one, each piece was instinctively placed back in order to their proper places. Finally, the bolts and screws were secured in place, then tightened... _Righty-tighty, lefty loosy_... The child remembered. Everything became fit back in place; perfect. A few adjustments in the back with the gears and the invention began running as normal again; even better in some respects.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock... _

The ticking ceased the dying wheezes it had once coughed. It spoke with new breaths, and more accurately. In many ways, the clock had been adjusted better than its factory standards; not just revived, but reincarnated into a higher caste. The boy wiped his brow, now being able to rest. The heat of the coming Summer was already torching his room and the nonstop work that he'd put into silencing the inaccuracy of previous tickings left him with sweat in his upper forehead. He scratched his whiskers and then smiled, laying his head into folded arms.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock..._

Time passed by, and boredom consumed the child. He lifted his head and curiously looked around the room. What else was there to take apart; an old TV, a radio, and some other uninteresting electronics. He'd already taken everything apart before. A deep sigh released from his throat as he contemplated what else to do. Time was only kept going through the constant ticking of the improved clock. Even that seemed to be taking hold of the young child's neck now; strangling the energy out of him and deepening his sleepiness.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock..._

His eyes drifted down, anchored by the Sand Man's weights... everything he could hear became unimportant details in the background of his environment. His brain began to think rapidly and he became convinced he was dreaming.

_Slam!_

The boy's head jolted up in reaction. He looked over and there, standing in front of the door, was his best, and oldest friend. A slim blue hedgehog, dressed in sporty attire, stood staring with emerald eyes. He looked exhausted... or was he frustrated? The child couldn't really interpret the expression correctly. Either way, it lead him to his question...

"What's wrong Sonic?"

It took awhile for the hedgehog to register what his friend had said. He closed his eyes and tucked his arms behind his head. After a moment, he tilted his head lazily toward the ceiling and let out a sigh. An awkward pause followed; it wasn't hard to tell that he was trying to manage the correct response. His tongue was dry in an ocean of words and expressions. Frustrated wasn't too far off from where he was feeling. It was more than just that though. It was a lingering emotion that went nameless; the perfect combination of a multitude of feelings. He grunted and then threw his arms to his side; eyes opening in unison with the arms descent.

"Eh, I don't know Tails... I'm tired." Annoyance lingered in every word.

"You want to take a nap?" Tails twiddled with his twin appendages embarrassedly, realizing shortly after he'd misunderstood the connotation of his friend, "I won't tell anybody, you know it."

"Yeah, I know." Sonic smiled over at Tails, he tried to cover up the frustration in his voice this time, "But it's not that."

"Then what is it?"

Sonic switched his attention to the work table standing against the wall to the right of him. He noticed the screwdriver, the clock, and the bowl; a piece of pottery he familiarized with Tails' using in the disembodying of mechanics. Quickly, Sonic decided to switch the focus of the conversation.

"Still tinkering with anything you can get your hands on I see, pal." He laughed, almost what could be considered an exhale; the laugh died out as fast as it had came.

"Yeah!" Tails took the bait and churned away from his friend's emotion; his excitement to talk about what he'd done in the past few weeks had overcome anything he wanted to ask Sonic, "I finished tuning that clock today so it doesn't have to be reset anymore, and then awhile back – well, you remember that old black and white TV – I gathered a few things and got it to show color... I mean, the saturation and..."

Sonic just smiled and nodded as his kid friend went on and on about his accomplishments. He was actually surprised by what Tails had been able to do, considering how young he was. The fox really was a magnificent genius, and Sonic didn't believe Tails even realized how smart he was. Although Sonic couldn't really follow most of what Tails talked about, hearing the joy in his voice brought a certain relief to his current disposition.

"Dang Tails! All of that in a few weeks?"

"I've been pretty busy..." Tails stopped, scratched his head, and then corrected himself, "Well, more bored." He laughed, and Sonic followed.

"I can tell. Maybe you should try leaving the machines a little and going outside a bit?" Sonic snickered.

Tails shyly looked away. There was an absence of speaking that followed. Sonic realized what he had said now, though he didn't mean anything by it; not seriously anyway. He looked at Tails with shameful eyes; he knew how he had offended Tails and he meant to apologize, "Tails..." He wanted to say sorry, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth. He offered his hand to a shoulder that shied away.

"You know Sonic..." Tails was quiet now, almost speaking in whisper, "I really do miss the old days. You know, you and me..."

"I know buddy." He walked over to his friend, leaned over and offered his condolences to try and comfort him. He knew better than anyone what Tails had to be experiencing. He made the mistake of criticizing Tails' way of coping, even if only as a joke. Tails' never commented on Sonic's decisions, not even to get a laugh. It wasn't in Tails' nature.

"Why did you go?"

Sonic felt slightly guilty now. Although he had faith in Tails' ability to take care of himself, he couldn't help but feel guilty for leaving him alone as an outcast amongst would be peers. But he couldn't handle the prior living conditions he had experienced, and he needed a change in his life before things got really bad. He was adapted for the street life, not a life of interacting with those who didn't understand him. The choice he made, to leave, was perhaps a little selfish; he considered that Tails was now mostly alone. He had to redeem his guilt with the little visitations he could to Tails; those weren't often considering how he had been _removed_.

"You already understand." He replied. Even if the fox couldn't actually comprehend the complexity of the situation, Sonic knew Tails had the knowledge through experience, "We're just a bunch of misfits. It's all we'll ever be."


	4. Chapter 3: Spare Change

"Come on," Sonic waved his hand toward the door, a trademark smile propping on his face, "Let's grab a bite, what do you say buddy?"

Tails' head shot up. He wasn't really hungry, but that was aside the point. All he wanted was to embrace the time that was available to him with his best friend. The young fox realized there may come a time when life became a little more complicated, possibly hindering their friendship; or even ending it. That was a serious fear lingering in the depths of his unconscious, that he would be abandoned like his past dictated beforehand.

Sonic, on the other hand, understood how Tails had to be feeling. He could tear through all the joy in his friend and just stare at the scared boy underneath the mask. The hedgehog had made it his duty to watch over Tails a long time ago, and he never dared went back on that for anything. Even if he couldn't always be there because of his own complications, at least he made the effort when he could be there. To him, Tails was like a little brother; Tails was the only family Sonic really had at all now in reality. That bond was stronger than any other to him. It shamed the hedgehog knowing that things were becoming ever more complicated with his life now; so complicated that it was as if a brick wall blocked the _brothers_.

Sonic stared at Tails for a moment, one brow shot up, and then addressed his friend, "Don't you think you'll get a bit hot in _that!_" He was referring to Tails' vest. He by no means meant to change the boy-genius style choices, just meant to guide them through personal experience of the day's heat. After all, he had just been out there and the sun was set to bake today. Tails' choice of a suit-vest, enhanced by other articles of casual attire, was not best for a hot day.

"People can tell a lot about you just by what you wear, Sonic." Tails rebutted.

"Alright, but don't be complaining when I say I told you so." The hedgehog snickered and then lifted his arm, as to tell Tails to go ahead first. Tails followed through and walked out the door.

A narrow stretch of hall formed down their line of sight. There was some buzzing and flickering of the light that seemed to syncopate to each other. A tired old man stared blankly at his mop, reluctantly doing a job that he was probably overqualified for; a job that seemed so redundant when the hall would return to its former state again in only a few days. Just outside of Tails' room was an abundance of litter. Snack bags, bottles, plastic wrappers, and more. In one word, the hallway was gross.

"I don't miss this." Sonic said plugging his nose. He picked up his pace, trotting down the hall as fast as he could. Tails quickly followed suit, waving at the janitor as the two walked by. The janitor mumbled something beneath his breath as the two passed.

They continued down a stairwell, the air becoming more bearable the further down they went. It was... lemony in one sense. Not a natural lemon smell. That would be absurd. It was as if something had been sprayed to overshadow the stench of something greater. The hedgehog appreciated the new aroma much more. Even Tails, who by now had to have been exposed to this smell more times than could be recalled, was appreciative of the lemony odor.

Finally, Sonic and Tails proceeded toward the lobby of the building. Surprisingly, it made a good mask for the rest of the building. If one were to speak of opposites, the lobby and the hall on the upper level would make good for an analogy. Compared to the dim, dying lights of the hall above, the lobby was glowing in all sorts of white light; supplied by working lamps on very fine furnished tables, some chandeliers scattered through the open room, and other sources. The hall upstairs might as well been buried beneath its tombstone already; _rest in peace hall_.

Exiting the lounge, Sonic and Tails emerged onto the streets of Station Square. Large bold letters announced the building behind them: _Annie's Hotel Orphanage._ It was an odd name for a place, but it described it almost as bluntly as could be described. Right there in the name was _hotel_ and _orphanage_. It would be a little hard to mistaken it for anything more than what it said it was.

"So, where do you want to eat?" Sonic looked at Tails, watched him 'fakely' discerning a place he would like to eat just before the fox answered.

"Doesn't matter to me Sonic!" He smiled up at Sonic and shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't a lie either, he really didn't care.

"How about hot dogs?"

"Alright!" Tails nodded.

The two entered the bloodstream of the magnificent city. As always, the city was busy as ever. Pedestrians trekked down either way on the sidewalks. The roadways were populated with vehicles; lively honking still cursing out from impatient drivers. It was as it was earlier in the day, alive and awake. Even during the nights, permitting the weather was decent enough, life still ran through the city's veins.

After arriving at a hot dog vender someways down the road, the pair found themselves sitting across from each other. Tails took only small bites, trying to make sure he didn't waste what cash Sonic had. Sonic on the other hand threw the dogs down his throat in almost an instant. One moment Tails saw him dousing it in condiments and in the next he didn't know where the hot dog had gone. Sonic burped, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and then excused himself. Tails sat staring at his hot dog, only nibbles in to the snack.

"So, how've ya been Tails?" Sonic attempted to break the awkwardness of the silence, knowing well enough already how Tails had been.

"You know... Nothing has really changed in the orphanage." Tails' eyes shied away from Sonic's, now staring at some leftover of fries, ketchup, and a burger that had been left behind by some other consumer. Sonic could tell something else was up though; not only by Tail's facial expressions, but by the tone of his voice.

"Anything in particular interesting you want to tell me about?" Sonic was prying, trying to broaden the conversation and to get Tails to talk just a bit more.

"Annie passed away Sonic..." He couldn't bare to move his eyes to meet the hedgehog's, "She always took good care of us, and she did miss you." Sonic threw his eyes away from Tails' now, trying to hide whatever emotion might have been invoked by the news of a lost friend. He now stared at the same heap of trash that Tails did too. Sonic became more involved in his thoughts, trying to conceive his own actions and convince himself of judgments that didn't really matter, "At least she cared. I don't like these new guys."

"It looks like trash." The hedgehog bluntly stated; in truth he was trying to agree with Tails, trying to say that the _new guys_ were like trash, "And it looks like all they kept was Annie's name. Otherwise the orphanage just look like trash." Sonic sighed and then stared at Tails, who remained concentrated at the pile of garbage beneath their table, "You remember how much Annie used to hate it when we would go on late night snack binges?" Sonic laughed and Tails followed.

"Oh yeah, she would _always_ scold us for those! And splashing in the pool!" The laughing died down, and now it was Tails' turn to change the tide of conversation, "So..." He pondered on what he wanted to ask Sonic. Sonic had always been his role-model, his inspiration, his best friend; his _brother._ He'd never tried to find out how Sonic was doing, mostly because he was overjoyed by getting to hang out with him. Now it just seemed appropriate, "So, how about you?"

"What about me?" Sonic asked, a bit surprised by the question. He was playing dumb, acting as if he didn't know Tails was prying at him.

"What do you _do_?" The fox asked.

"I..." Sonic paused, trying to conjure an appropriate response, "I run, mostly."

"Running?"

"Yeah," Sonic gave one of his confident gazes to Tails, his mouth rendering a real smile, "Running." To Sonic, that's all Tails needed to know. It wasn't important that his hardships be realized by the fox, at least not yet. Maybe later, when he could explain it better. Right now, running was the best way to describe it.

The two continued to chat about nonsensical topics. The sun dialed down beneath the horizon slowly, letting them know the hours had passed. Finally, realizing that dusk was getting ready to shift to night, Sonic stood up and they walked back to Annie's Hotel Orphanage.

At night, the letters illuminated with a bright red aura. It was the only major building on its side of the street, so when one would look over to it immediately they would notice the hotel. Inside, on the uppermost floor slept soundly a fox. No light illuminated on his face. A clock ticked in the darkness, ticking toward the next moment the sun would rise. Outside, just at the end of the block, a hedgehog stood walking alone to where ever he may collapse next... Or his next destination was coming to him.

Flashing...

_Red... Blue... Red... Blue..._


	5. Chapter 4: Charity Egg

The constant beeping shook him awake. Tails was now beginning to become aware of his surroundings once more. He felt groggy though; his thoughts were a haze focused on the blurs of his most recent adventures in an unconscious reality. In a few seconds those 'memories' would cease to have ever existed; weathered footprints in a cast of snowfall. Tails' mind turned to a different thought. He acknowledged real memories now, not illusionary masterpieces rectified through his sleeping brain. Light brewed from the outside, intruding as an uninvited guest even through closed blinds. Tails turned the opposite way, pulled the covers over his head and began to unsuccessfully attempt to return to sleep.

Something stood between him and rest. He thought back to yesterday, his meeting with Sonic. He had felt so happy then, just to see Sonic. Certain words though... They bothered him; whispered in his ears in redundancy. Underneath the surface of his mind, moving the plates of an intangible world. He thought about what Sonic had jokingly said; to him though, it was no joke. Tails considered seriously to expand his reach and leave the confines of a secure space. There was something about that thought that made him nervous though. His work on mechanics had always been a coping mechanism for him, not that he was aware he was even defending against a psychological attack. He felt safe; working by himself. Sonic was right though. In a matter of time there would be nothing left for the fox to tinker with. Nothing left to perform complicated dissections and resurrections. Eventually, Tails decided, he would have to move on and now was as good a time as any.

Once a week the orphanage would take a trip to let the children explore the city. It was like walking a dog; the orphans were leashed and restricted to their _guide_. The guide, usually a volunteer who was either too interested or didn't care enough for their duty, would take them on a very select course tied in with parks, shops, food, ect. The older teens would act as chaperons underneath the guide, splitting the main group into smaller units for shopping and lunch; of course, being orphans without any means of currency, they were generally left to window browsing and the restless bickering of untamed stomachs. Tails observed this leashed trip as his chance to break free of a dull, unsocial lifestyle; as he understood in his mind in all actuality, it was a time to act on what Sonic had said to him.

The fox glanced over at the clock on his night stand. _10:31_... Breakfast was already over and the crew would be assembling soon to leave. If he was to go, it was now. He wasn't sure that in another week he'd consider this seriously. Quickly, his blanket was tossed off into the distant shadows of his room; far from where any light dare venture. Almost in sync he rolled off his mattress, body colliding with the floor and his head soon following. His arm rose to meet the small aching spot on the back of his head that had connected with the carpet. He massaged it instinctively; the aching didn't clear up... Tails reached toward the bottom of his night stand, hands pressing against two identical objects. He drew them closer and stared at them a moment, as if to check that he had grabbed what he was looking for. A combination of red and white halved the shoes he was now holding. Tails slipped the pair on, stood up, and turned to look behind him. He observed the mirror in front of him; a cute boy fox stood, licking his fingers, coursing them through his fur, and letting three bangs arch over his face. Tails winked at the mirror and imagined himself being his idol for a second; flicking his fingers and pointing at himself, he imagined in Sonic's voice, _Looking good!_ It was time to go now though.

His hand touched the door knob. The brass knob turned clock-wise; moving forward. It could turn counter-clockwise and work just as efficiently, but it's always easier to move forward. Just as for Tails, it should have been easier to move forward. As he twisted that knob and opened the door a new world was opened. The hallway he had walked outside yesterday was changed; part of a new perspective. In fact, everything was changed, though not physically... It was a change in enlightenment, and in turn perception. Knowing his day would be different forced the fox to change eyes. As his head turned to look down the hallway, things seemed different somehow. Rather than noticing the grimy floors, Tails saw the brewing sunshine and city scape just outside the window down the hall. As he walked past the janitor, he didn't hear mumbles; rather he heard, "Morning Tails." Although the greeting was definitely a substitute for some less than preferable word choices, the change in focus was factual. Feelings of excitement rivaling his own feelings toward machinery were now rising in his blood. The idea of something new... It excited him.

Slowly, and nervously, the small boy fox started his descent down the final set of stairs. He walked out of the door way and stared at the assembling group of kids. Judgmental eyes scanned the fox. Eyes... They were everywhere, and they were staring at him... Tails was scared, but he couldn't turn back now. Apart of him wanted to look back, but the other side fought that anxiety. The eyes just kept staring at him. Some lazily eyed them with eyes half shut, as if to ask, _What are you doing?_ Tails didn't have an answer. He felt like he needed more of an answer than was necessary. How he wished Sonic could be here; his hedgehog friend not caring about the eyes and their questions. Regret... It began to fill his stomach. Why had he left the security of his room? It was too late now... He refused to let those other kids win.

The guide, a lanky man with glasses taped at the bridge, stared speechless as Tails approached the crowd. His mouth was wide, gaping with a stupid look. Perhaps he didn't know what to make of the fox. Either way, the only thing that followed was, "Are we all here then?" There was a distinct silence that followed. The guide acknowledged that as his answer. "Alright then, off we go!" He failed at pumping his arm with enthusiasm. If anything, he only discharged what enthusiasm was in the crowd; at least more so then what the addition of Tails had.

A pair of doors opened; abandoning their position so that a herd of children may pass by. Led by their guide, the herd began to move into the city; an area that might as well have been a foreign land to them. They were an awkward bunch, mixed with all sorts of kids who didn't seem to have anything in common. Obvious cliques, made up of three or four kids, formed into smaller groups. The older kids mostly grouped together, while the younger children formed diversity despite the difference in age between the kids. Then there was a peculiar yellow figure standing out amongst them, standing as the pivot point for an orbit of cliques. He watched; observed. Trying to find somewhere he might stand in. To his right, a group of soon-to-be thugs trying to conceal something. All Tails could see was the tip of a zip-lock bag extending into the middle of the triangle the trio formed whilst facing each other. Instinct spoke through founded morals; told the young fox that they were not the proper choice. He felt a disturbing vibe from staring at them anyway; a negative energy that clashed with Tails' own presence. It was that sort of light headed feeling one has when they hold their breath... He looked behind him. Similarly, it was just another clique that avoided anything in common with Tails; a shade of color that did not coordinate with the fox's own. It would seem it would be better to wait until everyone was split up for Tails to find somebody.

As the herd moved down the sidewalks of the massive city, Tails found himself increasingly left in the back of the pack. He was the one member that was left behind to remain as bait for stalking predators. The one that no other pack member would fight to save; stop and notice a missing a presence and then retrace steps to find the missing link. In fact, it was as if he wasn't even there. When he did try to speak up, his words went into deaf ears and back into the wind in which they were spoken. An anchor weighed his heart; his soul, more accurately. He knew he was being ignored, but he didn't know why. How could he? His understanding was that he was the _same_. His differences were what they could not understand though; what he could not understand. Finally, the final strike of the clock came; a bell rang from his remaining hope that he could do more with his time.

"I think it's time for a lunch break." The guide tried to seem like he still held some authority over the kids, but truth was they could have left whenever they had felt, "Hope to see everyone back here in..." He looked at the watch on his wrist, rubbed his patchy red beard – if you could call it that – and decided, "Two hours! Sound good?"

"Whatever..." Replied one of the older kids.

"Oh! But don't let me forget, older kids need to split up the younger kids and take them with you. They're your responsibility!"

"Right... Mom." The teen mumbled under his breath, concealing one hand within the pocket of his black hoody, and comfortably exercising his middle finger above all others.

As quick as the group had assembled in the lobby of Annie's Hotel Orphanage, they had dislodged. Standing alone where a large bundle of orphans once stood, was one lone two-tailed fox. Tails stood there, almost on the verge of tears; an outcast. He finally understood what Sonic meant by them being a bunch of misfits. It was somewhat true when Sonic had said Tails already knew what he meant, because all this time he had these terrible gut sensations about the other children. He just couldn't place them. Two hours? Tails thought for a moment... He didn't care. He didn't care about punctuality. In the end, who was going to notice he was gone? It became to him a personal trip, and about the only way to revive his soul and regain rational thoughts was to be alone.

In his sullen state, Tails knew of only one thing that would cheer him up; the sun in a cloudy sky. There was a particular store he was fond of. Of course, he rarely had any money so he was always subject to window-browsing when he went there; although he never really minded window-browsing when it came to this shop. Warren's Avionics was a grand location in the fox's mind. His dreams could be visualized as he stared at all the parts, the different planes, and the long conversations with pilots who would do business at the shop. He painted his mind with images of clouds and the deep ocean. Shades of blue covered the horizon of the canvas in his head as he imagined himself flying endlessly. The brush of the wind and the smell of the cool air - almost a wintry smell in the height of the altitude – were all things he desired. Tails was far from a realist. He believed in his dreams; believed that one day he would be a pilot. After all, he'd read dozens of articles, books, and magazines about aviation. All he wanted was the chance to put his knowledge to the test; to spread his wings and fly.

Tails had arrived to his _spot_. It was a sanctuary for him, and it was beautiful. On a runway, a line of planes eyed the fox who seductively stared back. His dreams were soaring throughout his imagination, yet perfectly still before him. The air... So cool... Whispering through his ears; begging him to go higher. A roaring engine, satisfied in its flight. He could almost experience it through pure imagination. All he could do is dream though... Then, there was the crescendo of conversation. Two men were approaching, speaking of business. One of the voices Tails recognized as the store owner, a man of strict business who wanted to chance nothing regarding any high profit deal. By chance, the owner was scared of Tails. To him, Tails was nothing but a cock roach in a restaurant; a risk to inspection. This was something Tails knew, but it was already too late to retreat.

"I promise you, you won't be dissatisfied with this offer! It's top of the line, guaranteed, with all the newest technology in avionics. There's nothing like it." That voice... It was disgusting the way he tried to rip people off, like a car salesmen; rather a salesmen in general.

"Yes..." The voice replied doubtful, "I'm sure it is just _so advanced._" There was a certain nasal to the tone, and at the same time a vibration in the throat; like a growl coming from each word. A rather, distinct, and unheard voice.

"Well, you'll just have to see for yourself mister?"

The voices were right above Tails now, as if they'd missed him. It was like he'd gotten by on pure luck, or perhaps he was destined to remain unseen... No, he wasn't going to remain unnoticed. Perhaps he wouldn't be visually realized, but...

There was a sudden grunting, synchronized with a thump on Tails' back. The fox flew forward and face-planted the ground... Stinging consumed his entire face. Salty droplets manifested in crystal eyes. It wasn't like Tails wanted to cry, it was just reaction. He grit his teeth together. Grinding ensued as he tried to prevent clouds from dispersing their droplets. It would have been embarrassing to cry right there, in front of two business men.

"I'm sorry sir!" The owner was trying to defend his position. He could care less of Tails' pain, all he wanted was another sale, "This... This _thing,_ shouldn't even be hear. Why if I'd seen a vermin such as this I would have called an exterminator!"

"Leave us, I've decided I'm not interested in what you have to offer."

"You'll regret this!" Storming off, the owner threw down some papers; probably forms he'd expected to be signed today, securing another deal. His rude attitude toward a defenseless, intelligible, creature would have seemed to have scared off the gentleman at hand.

"I'm sorry." Tails' eyes shifted up, scanning the gentleman at hand. From the bottom up stood a man at around six feet tall, greatly towering the fox. The two were David and Goliath in comparison. Black boots extended upward, wrapping around the leggings of a black jump suit. Just above that, a red overcoat covered the jumpsuit, revealing a heavy stomach that protruded out in an awkward and unnatural egg shape. Finally, the fox met eyes, or rather the glasses, of the face of this man. He toiled with his long mustache, "Is there anything I can do to make up for this? I would hate to be rude..." The man stood there, thinking of proper compensation... Then he made an offer, "Do you like planes? I have many you can look at." A curious smile covered the man's face, still toiling with his mustache.

Tails' eyes brightened; Sonic was right. Finally, Tails' found another friend.


End file.
